


the night sky is vast and wide

by lacecat



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Fix-It, Lighthouses, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Finale, Post-Season 4, Reunions, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 08:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10486662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: When he had carefully inquired around in the nearby small town about such abandoned places, unwanted and available for a retired merchant, he had been told that its construction had been an error of its governance, who had discovered that the surrounding sea was not used enough nor deemed dangerous by any traders for a lighthouse to bear any real purpose. If anything, the townspeople were surprised that the the lighthouse was still there.(post season 4)





	

**Author's Note:**

> so I wrote this just on a whim, and yes, I traded some historical accuracy just for the ~nautical romance~ of living in a lighthouse with the love(s) of your life
> 
> also because the finale is airing on sunday and I am about to get wrekt
> 
> (title from richard siken's the language of the birds bc why not)

The walls around him creak when he walks in the open door, the structure shifting in the fierce wind that’s been billowing since the early morning when he woke up. The air is musty despite the broken window in the corner, the edges of every surface covered in a thick layer of dust and dirt. 

 

James tests the frame of the door, pushing and prodding; although it too makes a low creak, he’s satisfied with the overall integrity. He casts his eyes upwards at the rafters, satisfied that seem to show no sign of rot or decay. From outside, the chipped paint and greenery growing down the side made it look much more dire in condition, especially since the lighthouse had never been completed, with its the top open to the air. 

 

He brushes aside some of the broken glass that’s scattered on the floor with his boot. While the space was in desperate need of some superficial repairs, his worries have been alleviated for now that it was uninhabitable. When he had carefully inquired around in the nearby small town about such abandoned places, unwanted and available for a retired merchant, he had been told that its construction had been an error of its governance, who had discovered that the surrounding sea was not used enough nor deemed dangerous by any traders for a lighthouse to bear any real purpose. If anything, the townspeople were surprised that the the lighthouse was still there.

 

The wind dies down for a moment outside, but he tugs his coat around him tightly anyways. The air here is colder, lighter than he remembers, a far cry from the heavy dampness of the Bahamas, but there’s something refreshing in it, even as the wind is biting, and in the next few months, there will be the winter to deal with. 

 

He hasn’t seen snow in a long time, James thinks to himself. Not since the cold winters of England, perhaps, or even before that. He’s heard that here, the entire landscape gets covered in a thick layer of white, untouched in a way that the slush of England could never be with the thick layer of smoke hanging overhead at all times. 

 

Stepping back outside, he looks down the rocky beach, to where he can barely make out the figure standing near the edge of the water. Despite knowing that they’re the only two people around for miles, the apparent distance makes anxiety gnaw at his gut as he watches the figure dip down to pick something up. The sand and rocks between them is too much to bear, then, and he starts to make his way down the beach, feeling his boots sink into the cold sand with each step.

 

Thomas is still staring out on the ocean as he approaches, his eyes distant as the clouds that are drifting over the edge of the horizon. He’s quiet, has been so for the past few days, ever since he told him about Miranda. 

 

It’s something beyond grief, too, something that worries James. Thomas looks like he’s searching for an impossible answer, that horribly familiar look in his eyes, one that Miranda had seen when she and James had first reached Nassau and they had read Peter Ashe’s letter. That look that hasn’t dissipated ever since Thomas heard about what happened in Charleston, one that James could see was beyond his control. 

 

Something cold, not unlike the sharp bursts of wind, strikes in James’s gut at the thought that perhaps he might be alone in staying at the lighthouse. Those last few steps, he hurries, until Thomas glances over and then James is close enough to him to see the bloom of warmth on his expression, but Thomas’s eyes are still too far away, something hidden. 

 

“It’s structurally sound,” James says after a moment, ruthlessly squashing the vulnerability he feels climbing in his chest. He needs to hold it together, for Thomas, and that thought steels him, and he braces himself. 

 

Thomas is holding something in his hands, passing it between his fingers as he looks at James. James continues, “The top’s missing, but there are two levels by the looks of it, and they both have intact ceilings. Most of the windows are in good shape, too, which surprised me. I found on old well out back, which can give us water.”

 

Thomas just continues to look at him, and more words pour out of James’s mouth before he can stop, as he feels the need to reassure, “There’s a small room on the ground outhouse attached, and while it’s not much in terms of comfort, I can have a fire on the ground level going by the end of today at the very least. There are just ladders right now connecting the floors, but I think there might be enough space for stairs that I can build in the spring.” 

 

He realizes that his words carry more meaning than he intended, that he’s envisioning a future for them beyond the next few weeks, and the breath feels sharp in his lungs. He imagines he’s holding out his heart, made of delicate glass instead of flesh and blood, in front of him. 

 

But before James can speak again, Thomas is stepping closer. Even after all this time, having Thomas this close in proximity makes his head spin a little, opening his arms up so that he can get closer, greedy for his presence like plants crave the sun. 

 

“I don’t need anything other than you,” Thomas says simply, and the words still gut him like it’s the first time he’s ever heard such an open declaration from this man in front of him. 

 

James exhales, and his breath is foggy in the cold air, the air becoming cloudy between them before drifting up above their heads in long wisps. “Will you stay?” 

 

“Of course,” Thomas says, his eyes still impossibly kind, and although James wills his knees not to buckle at the violent relief that courses through him, he’s moving and takes Thomas’s hand in his before he can think twice. 

 

He starts to pull away, even, but then he remembers that it’s just them out there. This isn’t England, isn’t even Nassau. He keeps his hand curled around Thomas’s, feels the man squeeze his fingers, and it’s though all of it has been worth it, just for this moment. 

Thomas opens his other hand, and there’s a small rock, rounded by the waves, and a dark green color. “It reminded me of your eyes,” he reveals with the smallest quirk of his mouth, and for the first time in years, James feels hopeful. 

 

 

•••

 

_The ship creaks around them, catching the southern wind as she returns to Nassau. But that sound has nothing to do with the roaring that’s in Flint’s ears in this moment, the heartbeat he can hear thudding throughout his body._

 

_Across from him, Silver is saying something about Savannah and his scout, but Flint still can’t focus on the specific words, just watches how the other man’s face moves, as he continues to speak._

 

_He looks nervous, Flint realizes, which is probably in part since Flint’s face must be frozen in some horrible expression, ever since Silver had leaned on the desk, his hands fidgeting on the top of his crutch, and he had said, “Thomas is alive”._

 

_The sureness in his voice was new. It was unlike before, when Flint had assumed his question was theoretical, that the possibility being such a far chance, that he had long crushed it deep inside his soul lest it consume his thoughts. Impossible, he thought to himself, and he had cut Silver off sharply, as they stood there watching Max go through the fort’s doors._

 

_But now, Silver looks nervous, but he looks ready. That’s what convinces Flint before Silver can even begin to defend his statement. Behind him, on the other side of the desk, he can see Madi watching them, her dark eyes flitting between the two of them. She must see something that they can’t, because next thing he knows she’s in front of him. He notices that Silver has stopped talking, as Madi gets in between them, bending to look at Flint._

 

_“Flint?” she says, soft, and her hands are a cool pressure on his. He starts to jerk away, but she’s adamant, pressing down on his clenched fists lightly. He could break free if he needs to, but Madi’s touch is insistent, and he stares down at them for a moment before looking back up.Her touch grounds him, as he starts to regain his hearing. The lamp in the corner of the room flickers from some invisible breeze, and the light shifts on the curves of her face._

 

_“James.”Silver’s voice filters through his thoughts, as Madi stares right into his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says then, and when Flint blinks away from Madi’s gaze, Silver is right there behind her, and there is a complicated range of emotions on his face that Flint is nowhere near able to translate right now._

 

_“I’m sorry,” Silver says again, and he’s dropping to the ground in front of him, right beside Madi’s feet. Asking for forgiveness, Flint thinks to himself, and before he can stop himself, he’s already reaching for Silver._

 

_“It’s not your fault,” Flint says, quiet, and only then can he feel the long overdue tears forming in his eyes. Madi wipes a soft thumb over the top of his cheek as they begin to spill, and Silver presses into the touch of his hand, his beard rough as he clutches Flint’s hand to his face._

 

_The past few days- Skeleton Island, the fighting, the mess with Rogers and Billy- all fades away. Right now, he can feel the muscles in Silver’s jaw jump, Madi’s fingers light on his, and he thinks,_ Thomas is alive _._

 

_Flint takes in a deep, shuddering breaths, as if he’s been drowning in the ocean and he can see the faint glimmer of the sun, high above his head, above the waves._

 

 

•••

 

They have nothing beyond a few books and a single change of clothes between them, but they move their meagre belongings into the attached house, which seemed to have served as a storage area for the builders. James carries in some of the unused wood into the first level, starting a fire in the hearth, while Thomas sweeps up the broken glass into a glittering pile in the corner that catches the light from the flames. 

 

He uses some rope he finds in the attached building to tie the door shut, just to keep out any wild animals that might wander in. It’ll do for now, but tomorrow, he’ll travel to the town and pick up supplies, provisions, whatever else they need. 

 

They get a fire started in the hearth in the corner, and soon the room is warming up, the yellow light making everything bright. Thomas unearths the bread and dried fish they had bought earlier in town, and they eat by the flames of the fire, huddled together. At one point, James lets his knee rest against Thomas’s, and once they’ve finished eating, Thomas puts a hand on his knee, rubbing slow circles there, both staring into the flames.

 

The ladder creaks as James climbs it, and he nearly turns around and offers Thomas a hand up before the other man maneuvers himself with far more agility than James had ever seen from him. The second level, though less dusty, is sparse, with moonlight filtering through the small window on the side, illuminating an empty chest and a broken chair. 

 

“At least there’s less to clean,” James says after a moment. “Christ, I hope that fire reaches up here.” 

 

Thomas huffs out a laugh, and it’s not an elegant sound, but it’s the first time James has heard that laugh, and he suddenly feels like he’s falling all over again, his head swimming. 

 

He must make a sound, or maybe he staggers a bit, for then Thomas is in front of him, and his hands are gentle, too gentle, as he touches him. “What is it?” he asks, tilting his head down to look more at James. 

 

James brings his hands up to wrap around Thomas’s wrists. “It’s you,” he says, “You’re coming back to me,” and perhaps he’ll spend every day waking up and breathing and never deserve this, but he’ll be damned if he won’t try. 

 

“I’m already back,” Thomas says then, understanding James even though he can’t find the words. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you.” 

 

James squeezes his eyes shut. “Say it again.”

 

“I love you,” Thomas insists, pressing a kiss to the back of one of his hands, then the other. “I love you.”

 

They fall asleep holding each other, on top of a few ragged blankets, their coats thrown over them. It’s hardly the most dignified accommodations, but when James wakes the next morning, it’s with Thomas’s head on his chest, and that makes the eventual aches and pains worth it a thousand times over.

 

 

•••

 

 

_There’s a faint gunshot, and the only thing that keeps Flint from swerving to grab his own pistol and blowing their cover, is Silver’s knuckles brushing against his hand, light enough that it can be mistaken from the swing of his crutch just veering a bit too close to where he’s walking besides Flint._

 

_The man who’s leading them, who thinks they’re traders looking for a meeting with their supplier, glances back with an apologetic sigh. He probably thinks that the humble Mr. Smith and Mr. Lewis are men unused to the sound of gunfire, after all, although from the way that his eyes keep on flicking to Silver’s missing leg, Flint guesses that they might need to make a quick getaway and soon. “Apologies, gentlemen. That’ll be William putting down one of his horses. Thing had a bad leg after hauling in the harvest.”_

 

_Flint nods once, and Silver just glances between him and the man. He’s just a little too good at this, at adjusting to the civilized life. The town is located just outside of Savannah, and it’s the sort of basic, comfortable life that attracts some. Not that Silver is included in that category, after all, not with the way he’s holding himself with just a touch too much carefulness, which Flint recognizes as discomfort in this particular environment. “A pity,” Silver says smoothly, before throwing another look at Flint. “These the cells up here?”_

 

_“Sure is,” the man- Foster, Flint recalls- replies, as they round a corner. “Just had a man thrown in there the other day. Refused to attend the church services, they said, for the second time this month.” He shakes his head in apparent disgust, and while Silver makes a humming noise in respond, Flint is focused on keeping his breathing even. Readying himself._

 

_“That’s a shame,” Silver says, and then, with another glance around them, he pushes Foster to the wall- who’s too surprised to make another sound- and slits his throat with the knife he had been concealing in his sleeve._

 

_Foster makes a gurgling sound, sliding to the ground as the life leaves his eyes. Silver swears under his breath, dropping the knife as he tries to catch him. Flint catches the dying man’s other arm, and together, they prop him up against the wall, both looking up and down the small path that leads between the buildings._

 

_Silver nods to the building, to the cells. “You go. I’ll keep a lookout.”_

 

_Flint catches his arm- the sleeve dark with blood now, he realizes, even though it’s barely visible in the dark fabric- and says, “Thank you.”_

 

_“Go,” Silver says with another nod, though he clasps Flint’s hand briefly._

 

_Flint turns from him, hurrying down the path without attracting any attention from the people walking by, none of them looking down to where Silver is standing with a body. He walks into the cells, shutting the door behind him, before taking the first guard by surprise._

 

_It’s far from the hardest infiltration he’s had to do, even though it’s just him, and Flint dispatches two other guards without as much of a shout coming from either of them. They hadn’t been expecting him, which- why would they?  
_

_There are only two cells, and he can already see that one of them is empty. He rounds the corner, and there’s someone in the second cell, sitting down on the dirty cot, staring at his hands in front of him._

 

_“I’m not in the mood to listen to another one of your passages, pastor, if that’s what you’re here for,” the man says, and though it’s been many years since he’s heard that voice, though he’s imagined this these past few nights, Flint is dumbstruck._

 

_“You can put me in stocks again if it would make you feel better,” the man says with the beginning of a dark chuckle, before he’s looking up, and his jaw slackens._

 

_Flint inhales, sharply, as those eyes find him through the bars of the cell, zeroing in on him in an instant. Thomas stands up, takes a painfully hesitant step towards him._

 

_“Have I died?” he wonders out loud, and Flint makes a low, pained sound. “Is this my punishment, my purgatory?”_

 

_“Thomas,” Flint manages to get out, and it’s the sound of his voice that seems to stir him into action. Thomas’s lips part in a silent gasp._

 

_“How-” he begins to ask, but shakes his heard nearly violently, cutting himself off.“Can you get me out of here?”_

 

_Flint pulls at the keys, blindly shoving one into the lock, unable to look away from Thomas’s face from the gaps between the bars._

 

_By some miracle- though he is loathe to use that word, not when Thomas is right there in front of him,_ alive _\- Flint opens the lock, and the door swings open with a loud creak._

 

_There’s a long moment, stretched out by the tension between them- and then Thomas isstepping forward, and his mouth presses against Flint’s, desperate and overcome with emotion._

 

_Flint’s hands come up to grasp at his face, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s coming up to the surface water and he can finally taste the sweet air. His world narrows down to the feeling of Thomas pressed up against him, his hands on either side of Flint’s face as well, and the shuddering breaths that Thomas is exhaling against Flint’s face._

 

_Flint buries his face in Thomas’s neck, next, and he inhales, committing the smell he’s long forgotten back to memory. He imagines that in this very moment, some specter of his past is finally loosening its claws on him, some bloodstained creature that is dissolving as Thomas touches him, as he breathes the same air as him._

 

_They separate eventually, even though the distance pains him, and Thomas keeps on clutching at his face. As the water in the corner of the prison drips, James says, “I’m getting you out of here.”_

 

 

_•••_

 

They go into town the next day, to pick up supplies. Together, they manage to gather actual coats, firewood, some tools and seeds to grow crops, food supplies to last them at least a month, and, perhaps most bizarrely, a dairy goat. 

 

“I suppose we’ll want something other than bread and meat eventually,” Thomas says, perplexed when an actual laugh bubbles out of James’s mouth before he can help himself, remembering _that goat_. “What is it?” 

 

“It’s a strange story,” James says after he is able to compose himself. “There was a dairy goat on the ship.” He lowers his voice so that even Thomas has to strain to hear him, as he has no plan to announce to everyone within earshot about his pirating days. “At night, she would get out of the enclosure- there was this crazy cook, whom I always suspected let her out. And that goat would eat anything she could get to- money, hats, rations. It made half the men want to kill the other half.” 

 

It’s not a particularly engaging story, but given the way Thomas is giving him a bright smile right there in the middle of the market, James continues, “One day, I caught her eating my spare pair of boots. That animal had somehow wandered her way into my cabin, but I couldn’t just shout at a goat in front of all my men, so I just let her have it.” He sobers up quickly soon after, though. “It’s a good idea, the goat.” 

 

“I’ll be sure to keep her from your boots,” Thomas dryly replies, and he leads the goat alongside them, reaching down occasionally to pet her furry head. 

 

It’s too late in the season to begin planting crops, so they decide to make so with the milk provided by the dairy goat- who takes to munching on the dark green grasses that seem to stand up to the cold weather- and the provisions they’d bought. James fixes the window and the door, and together, they sweep out the levels of the lighthouse. 

 

He manages to knock together a small bookshelf with some of the leftover wood in the spare time they have left before the sun sets. That night, the room is already warm from the fire they’ve diligently kept fed, and James can feel a smile form on his face as he watches Thomas carefully put their precious books on the shelf. 

 

They also found an old mattress amid the cluttered tools, and carry it to the second level. It’s lumpy but comfortable, and with the newly clean walls and books around them, it feels more and more like a home. 

 

That night, Thomas speaks suddenly from where he’s lying besides James. “I don’t blame you for her death.”  


 

James’s hand freezes from where it had been idly tracing patterns on Thomas’s long arm, and his heart clenches. “What?”  


 

“I need you to know that Miranda wasn’t your fault,” Thomas says softly, and James has to swallow, squeeze his eyes shut. “I was upset because it was just more misery that you had to go through, in part, and you were alone for so long. I could never blame you, though.” 

 

He knows Thomas has nightmares, that he will go silent sometimes, and stare out at the ocean, but to hear those words pulls something loose in him. Perhaps he was afraid that Thomas did blame him, or that whatever damage they both had suffered apart was enough to change them enough to make them grow apart. But maybe- just maybe, with this house, this life that they’re just starting to build- they’ll be trying for a future together, and perhaps that is enough. 

 

“I wasn’t entirely alone,” James says then to the dark, and he can feel Thomas shift besides him. “My ex-quartermaster. You met him on the ship.” 

 

“John Silver?” Hearing his name from Thomas’s lips is both strange and exhilarating, and James has to stare up at the ceiling for a moment. He’s lost in a memory, for a moment. 

 

“Yes. He- after Miranda’s death, he brought me out. That’s something that I can never repay him for.” 

 

“I would have liked to get to know him,” Thomas says, and James glances over at him before he can stop himself. “If he was worthy of your love, I owe him as well.”  


“I didn’t-” but the words get caught in his throat, as Thomas puts an arm around him. “I never told him. I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

 

“James,” Thomas whispers into his hair, “You could never hurt me.” 

 

 

_•••_

 

 

_“So that’s it?” Silver asks. “You’re just going to take whatever ship takes you far away from here, have your happy ending?”_

 

_James looks at him, that despite Silver’s light tone, his hands are clenched tight on the railing’s edge. “It’s time.”_

 

_“I didn’t think I would see that day that Captain Flint would leave the life, without a bullet to the head no less,” Silver says, but then there’s that pained sound that escapes from his throat. “Christ. I don’t know- I can’t do this without you.”_

 

_James doesn’t know what to say at first. They both stare out on the expanse of the ocean, barely illuminated by the glow of the lanterns behind them, for what feels like an eternity._

 

_“You have the crew, and Rackham’s ship,” James says. “Lest you anger Madi enough for her to push you over the edge, I think you’ll be fine.”_

 

_“How can you joke about this?” Silver says abruptly, now looking furious. His knuckles are turning white from his grip on the side. “You have him now, but that doesn’t mean you have to leave-”  
_

 

_“It exactly means that I need to leave,” James replies, and guilt curls at the way that Silver flinches at his sharp tone. If only the crew could see them now, see how Long John Silver cannot face him in this moment. “It’s time for Captain Flint to die.”_

 

_“So that’s it,” Silver says, and his tone is flat, deceptively even, but James can still see the way he’s shaking minutely. “It’s between-”_

 

_“It’s not between you or him, if that’s what you’re asking,” James snaps, something twisting deep inside him. “Don’t make me answer that. Not you.”_

 

_“I wasn’t going to say that,” Silver says softly, turning to face him. “I was going to say, it’s what’s between us, that’s making you go, isn’t it?”  
_

_Any rebuttal dies on James’s tongue. “John-”_

 

_“I love you,” Silver says then, and even if the tone is desperate, the words are true. “I love you, doesn’t that change anything?”_

 

_James looks at him, can’t drag his eyes away, even as Silver takes another long, shuddering breath. “I’ll have a transport bring you to the dock tomorrow,” he says then, and he’s turning to move._

 

_“John,” James tries again, and the words are trapped in his throat._

 

_“Go,” Silver says, without turning around. “If there’s anyone, it’s you who deserves to pick up the oar.”_

 

_James reaches out after him, but his fingers close on empty air, as Silver moves quickly away, back to the cabin that he shares with Madi. Thomas will be wondering where he is, James thinks distantly to himself, back in his own cabin, even as he watches Silver leave._

 

_The next morning, there’s a thick layer of fog that rolls lazily across the surface of the water. Madi watches as both he and Thomas board the rowboat, and she kisses both of them on their cheeks, quick but no less sweet._

 

_“Safe travels,” Madi whispers into his ear, and he closes her eyes, smelling the soft scent of her perfume, something rich and vaguely floral._

 

_He nods, and he knows she understands why he cannot speak, not now, as Thomas waits for him the back of the boat, even as her hand slips from his a moment later._

 

_As the men row them to the dock, he can see a lone figure towards the bow of the ship, watching them, one crutch propped underneath his arm. James watches, but the figure remains still, and he eventually turns back, turns to Thomas, and watches the dark water flow by them as they make their way to shore._

 

_•••_

 

 

They make it through that first, brutal, freezing winter. Neither are used to the cold, and every morning, they spend the first few minutes after waking, clutching at each other for the last bits of sleep-drowsy warmth.

 

In the weeks after they arrived, they scrub down the levels, fixing the loose floorboards and the gaps in the windows, but the arrival of snow means they stay indoors most of the day to avoid the biting wind.

 

Thomas walks to town several times a week, bundled up in both their jackets, and James starts to build stairs that wind along the sides, as to make it much more easy to move between the first two levels. They push the bed to the side, underneath the windows, and get proper bedding, which soothes their sore muscles. 

 

Under James’s instruction, Thomas manages to put together a roof and pen together for the goat, close enough to the house so that when it gets too cold, they can bring her in for the night. He’s absurdly proud of the simple structure, so that James has to pepper kisses all over his face despite his laughter, his heart singing that he can be like this, so free, with the man he loves. 

 

While Thomas barters for more food in town, as they have to wait for the weather to become warm enough to plant, James has another project. The top level, where there should be a large lamp meant to signal ships, he fixes while Thomas is gone. It’s sturdy enough, so when he joins Thomas in town one day, he buys the glass to fill in the frame. He envisions a cozy enclosure, once he can add two chairs he needs to build, that overlooks the ocean and the beach. 

 

When Thomas goes to town one week, just as most of the snow has melted from the ground, he puts in the glass, polishing it carefully. From up there, he can see Thomas approaching in the early evening, the sky darkening in the distance as a storm starts to brew. 

 

James lets Thomas see that he’s up in the enclosure, even raises a hand in greeting from where he’s standing behind the glass. Thomas pauses, looking up at him, before entering the house below.

 

James listens for his footsteps, the familiar creak of his gait as he walks up the new steps. “I had to hide this glass from both you and the goat, so I’ll thank you to appreciate-” he starts as Thomas’s head appears from the steps, but he’s unprepared for when Thomas finishes walking up, he pushes him up against the glass he’d just installed, his mouth hot on his.

 

They haven’t been physically intimate since reuniting. James has been happy enough just to have Thomas back, that he hasn’t dared, hadn’t needed to bring it up. He knows that Thomas has seen unspeakable horrors, ones that still give him nightmares that means James has to hold and calm him at night. But he hadn’t realized how much he had missed _this_ , Thomas’s hands grasping on his sides, rucking up his shirt, as though he would die if he didn’t touch James for another second, his tongue running along the roof of James’s mouth as he pushes against him. 

 

Above them, there’s the warning rumble of thunder, and Thomas breaks free, his mouth red and slick, to look at him. “I’m sorry,” he begins, and _Christ,_ his voice is slightly hoarse, and James brings him in for another kiss. 

 

“Don’t be,” he says in response. “Can I-” and Thomas lets him push his coat off his shoulders, hitting the ground with a thud, then work his shirt over his head. James runs his hand over the other man’s chest, watching Thomas’s pupils dilate as his nails catch ever so slightly. 

 

“James,” Thomas gasps, and he’s bringing James in for another kiss, running his hands through the hair that’s been growing ever since they got here. Pressed up against the glass, the surface cold against his back, James throws his head back with a loud groan when long fingers find their way to his belt buckle, letting it fall to the ground with a clatter. 

 

Desperate for each other’s touch, that it’s been such a long time, neither of them last long. It’s raining outside now, and with each bolt of lightening that lights up the entire room, James can feel electricity running up and down his spine, to the tips of his fingers and toes. When Thomas comes, it’s with a low groan that’s muffled into the long column of James’s neck, after he’s pulled him onto the ground and James has straddled him, working them together in a callused hand. 

 

With that sound, James’ hips stutter, and he mouths at Thomas’s neck, chasing his release. When Thomas kisses the tip of his chin, he comes with a shout, thunder echoing the blood roaring in his ears. James collapses on top of him, then, sweaty and sated in a way that’s both familiar and new. 

 

“What was that about?” James has to ask after they both catch their breaths, kissing the side of Thomas’s neck, just below where his jaw meets his neck. “Not that I’m complaining.” 

 

“I saw you up here,” Thomas says, letting his hand idly play with James’s hair, “And I remembered back in London, when I saw you for the first time when you returned from those long months you were in Nassau.”

 

Those particular memories are bittersweet for James to recall, as the soon events were among the worst in his life, but they were also the last cherished memories he had of Thomas for a long time. He swallows, listening the rain hit the thin roof above them. “I guess that means I need to trim my hair, don’t I,” he jokes half-heartedly. 

  
“Don’t you dare,” Thomas says then, tugging lightly at the strands, and James is pleasantly surprised to feel the low coil of arousal once more in his gut. “When I saw you then, in my parlor, I wanted nothing more than to do this to you then. Then it never happened, and I suppose, I wanted to have this, to never regret not kissing you again.”  


 

“We will never be parted again,” James promises, lifting his head to press an insistent kiss to Thomas’s wrist, still loose and pliant from before. “No one can take you from me. I would never allow it while there is still breath in my body.” 

 

Perhaps ten years ago, Thomas would have laughed at that, said something about dramatics, but now, he studies James’s expression, the fury and conviction that he no doubts sees there. James is afraid that his remnants of darkness- what he might never be able to fully shed from being Flint all those years- will one day scare Thomas away for good. That is his true nightmare. 

 

But now, Thomas kisses his forehead. “And I as well,” he says into James’s hair, and James banishes such dark thoughts in favor of rolling them over so that Thomas is pressing him into the wooden floor, hoping for a repeat performance. 

 

In the weeks after, as soon as the danger of frost is over, they begin to plant some of the seeds. It’s hard work, but they have plenty of time, James thinks, as he watches Thomas plant the seeds and then wipe his forehead from sweat, dragging a smear of dirt down his temple. 

  
He wipes it off that night, as they’re splashing their faces with water in a basin. Thomas lets him angle his face, trying to get the dirt off, before playfully splashing him with some of the water. 

 

They have plenty of time, James reminds himself every morning when he wakes up. He’s happy, he realizes, and for the first time possibly in his life, he has that promise of open happiness for the rest of his life. 

 

If at night, he dreams of the flash of blue eyes, a sideways grin, thick metal rings lining strong fingers, well, there are some sacrifices that must be made for such happiness. 

 

_•••_

 

In the summer, they begin to harvest their crops, local fruits and some wheat they’ve managed to cultivate. With the food to sustain them, Thomas is able to make fewer trips into town, but often, with the lack of better things to do, they take long, meandering walks up and down the shoreline, or even into the nearby forest during the day. In the summer sun, James grows more freckles and goes through the standard stages of burning on his shoulders and cheekbones, but it’s Thomas who changes the most in the sun.

 

Thomas’s skin turns into a golden color, and his light hair gets further bleached by the sun. It’s a startling contrast that James sees progress each day they work outside, but rather than be a strange appearance, it gives him an aura of health and vitality that James finds irresistible. 

 

He’s sure to tell this to Thomas, less in words and more in the fact that when they’re not working, James can’t seem to keep his hands off of him. Thomas eventually has to bat his hands away irritably, as it’s much to hot for continued close contact, until the heat breaks late at night and he lets James press kisses all over his body, to pay homage to the man before him. 

 

It’s towards the end of summer, when James is cleaning the glass panes on the top part of the lighthouse, and he sees an approaching figure. His heart leaps into his throat, and he hurries down the steps, dropping the cloth on the ground.

 

He picks up his pistol where he’s stashed it behind the bookshelf. Thomas, having heard him thunder down the stairs, looks questioning at both the gun and his expression. 

 

“Stay here,” James says- he’ll apologize for the order later- and he goes out the door, shutting it behind him. He keeps the gun at his side, waiting for the figure to come closer. Perhaps it is just an errant farmer, or a lost merchant looking for the port. 

 

What he doesn’t expect, however, is the woman approaching. James lets out a long breath, watching as she walks up to him, and he takes his finger off the trigger. 

 

“Hello, captain,” Madi says, her tone even. Her hair is gathered like a crown around her head, and she looks as regal as he remembers her, even as her clothes are plain and she is unadorned. “I have been looking for you.” 

 


End file.
